


Hallelujah

by LizardWhisperer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, I want to BE Robbie Thompson, Leonard Cohen--Google that shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:15:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizardWhisperer/pseuds/LizardWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Season 11 of Supernatural should end.</p><p>Eatcher heart out, RT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this isn't Destiel--it oughtta be (if you squint), but I tried to write an honest-to-Chuck canon ending.
> 
> .........................................................................................................

Amara is gone—trapped in a parallel world she can destroy to her content.

Lucifer is gone, a place somewhere Chuck calls “rehab”—but far cushier than Hell.

Chuck is gone—just gone.

 

Cas is gone.  Dean kneels on the ground, his dear friend’s battered, burnt remains cradled to his chest.  Dean’s lips are moving, silently repeating a mantra as he rocks Cas’ vessel, his eyes tightly closed.  Sam is close, but not close enough to make out his brother’s words.  As a strong hand wraps around Dean’s shoulder, the hunter opens his eyes, not quite focusing on his brother.

“Dean?  Dean, he’s gone. “

Sam’s words fall on deaf ears, as Dean raises the volume of his constant litany.

“W-one more time, c’mon, what’s one more time, one more time, Chuck, one more time—“

Sam drops his chin to his chest—and prays with his brother.

But nothing happens.

As the brothers slowly, carefully place their friend’s body in the back seat of the Impala, _somewhere_ far, far away, in an almost-empty bar, Chuck’s voice starts to sing over a guitar riff.

“ _Heard there was a secret chord, David played and it pleased the Lord…_ ”

The song continues— _somewhere_ —as the Winchesters drive home to the bunker.

“… _the minor fall and the major lift_ —“

The boys reverently wrap their angel in a clean sheet—Dean pausing before covering his bloody face.

 

_“Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelu-u-ujah”_

 

Dean leans down, leaving a kiss on Castiel’s forehead, before quickly finishing wrapping his body.

 

Sam and Dean build the pyre, not far from the bunker. 

The brothers lift the heavy sheeted body together and Dean leans his head against a cut branch, silently saying his goodbye to Cas, Sam’s hand firmly on his shoulder.

 

“ _Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_ ”

 

The gas-soaked pyre catches instantly, the fresh wood crackling loudly as the flames rise towards the sheet.

Sam and Dean stand and watch in silence.

 

“ _Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelu-u-ujah_ ”

 

As the flames lick the sheet, Sam clears his throat, stating blankly, “Your car wasn’t crappy, Cas.”

Dean looks at his brother, incredulous.  “That’s all you got, Sam?”

 

“ _Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelu-u-ujah_ ”

 

Sam shrugs, frowning apologetically.  “Always felt bad about that.”

Dean shakes his head, “ _That’s_ what you feel bad about?  THAT?  How ‘bout we _killed him_? Again?”

Dean’s raised voice isn’t loud enough to drown out the sharp cry of pain—from the pyre.

“It’s really hot in here!”

 

“ _With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_ ”

 

Dean jumps through the flames, ripping at the logs to get to the squirming sheet.  Dean gets a hold of the material and both brothers drag the bundle off and away from the fire.

 

“ _Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ …”

Patting at the smoldering sheet, Dean unfolds the top flap and Castiel says, “Hello, Dean.”

 

“ _Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ ”

 

Dean kisses the angel’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose—stopping just short of kissing his lips.

“Hey, Cas—sorry about the fire, we thought—“  Sam stops as Cas struggles to sit up within his shroud.

“Well, Sam, I will say—this trumps the “crappy car” comment."

 

In an empty bar, _somewhere_ , we see Chuck, his guitar on one knee, smirking through his beard.

“Ah,”  he says with a shrug, “What the Hell.”

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> https://youtu.be/YS2nkauuO78


End file.
